


Call Me

by suchadearie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Modern AU, phone sex au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchadearie/pseuds/suchadearie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night, Mr. Gold calls a phone sex line just to mute his loneliness for a bit. After he recognises Belle French's voice when he goes to collect the rent, he calls her again - and again. Phone sex and dirty talk inclusive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago and for some reason never put it on AO3. So here you go.

He stared at the phone in his hand, and back at the ad in the magazine. This was ridiculous. Old fashioned, perhaps, since it seemed like a waste of money to call a sex line when there was so much free porn floating around in the internet. But he was lonely, and he wanted someone to actually talk to him. He was starved for human contact, starved for something more than just sex. Nevertheless, his hand was shaking when he dialed the number, and he almost hung up again when a soft female voice answered him, after an automatic message informed him about the prices.

“Hi, here’s Lacey. Are you lonely?”

He had to clear his throat, but he couldn’t keep the trembling out of his voice. At least she sounded nice, and not bored, or worse, evil. “Yes.”

“Poor baby. Do you want to tell me your name?” Her voice was soft. She sounded as if she was really interested in him.

“It’s…Marcus.” He had not thought about this before, and his name slipped out before he had time to think about an alias, or just use his middle name - though it would probably do not much for him if she called him Aurelius. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“You sound very nice, Marcus. I like your voice. Are you comfortable?”

Gold swallowed. He was lying in his bed, propped up against the pillows, and was wearing pajamas. He had thought about placing tissue paper within his reach, but he was too ashamed to do so. Too much planning ruined the mood. “Yes”, he answered her, only too aware that he didn’t give her much to work with.

“I’m glad you’re feeling comfortable. It’s important that you feel good. Tell me, do you want to feel good?”

“Yes.” God, his voice was hoarse. Her voice had a certain timbre that shot under his skin and made him shiver, and he felt his cock harden without even touching it.

“So, how can I help you to feel good? Tell me what you want me to do for you.”

His breath was coming heavier, and he imagined her licking her lips on the other end of the line. Imagined her feeling just as aroused as he was by just hearing her voice. “Lick your lips”, he said, “and touch yourself…” It sounded ridiculous, and his face burnt with shame. He was glad she couldn’t see him.

“Tell me, where do you want me to touch myself?” Her voice had gotten deeper, throatier, and Gold closed his hand around his erection and started stroking himself hesitantly.

“Your lips. And your neck. And…your breast.” He almost choked with the last word.

“Hm, that feels good. Does it feel good for you too, Marcus?”

“Yes.” He imagined her touching her breast, tweaking her nipple, and he started to pump harder.

“Do you want me to touch myself anywhere else, Marcus? Tell me, please, I want to touch myself. Make me feel good.” There really was a pleading tone in her voice, as if she was enjoying this just as much as he was.

“Your thighs. I want you to…stroke your thighs…” His cock twitched when she groaned into his ear.

“Are you making me wait, Marcus? Please, let me touch my pussy for you. I need it…” She moaned a little, and the sound of it rippled down his spine, hot and melting, and his balls tightened. He was pumping fast and hard now, imagining her slipping her fingertips between her wet folds and circling her clit.

“Yes, touch it for me, please.” He panted, and groaned.

“Oh goodness, I’m so wet…” She moaned again, and he came, in hot white bliss, spurting his cum over his hand and into his pajama pants. He must have made a sound, because she was quiet for a moment.

“Thank you, Lacey”, he whispered.

“Are you feeling better now, darling?” she asked, and he released a breath that seemed to have been stuck in his throat for ages.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Take care, Marcus.” She sounded so kind and gentle, and with a jolt of panic he hung up. He wanted to see her face, wanted to know the person that owned that voice, who sounded so gentle and caring.

He had called that hotline to feel human contact, and now he felt even lonlier than before.

 

 

He didn’t call again, though he could hardly get her gentle voice out of his head. In his daily routine was hardly room for fantasies about a woman that did nothing more than her job by providing him with a fantasy and a few shameful moments of lust, but he caught himself again and again thinking about that voice.

He never expected to meet the woman that voice belonged to in person. It was because of this, because of him placing her not firmly enough in a corner of his mind that was reserved for silly fantasies, that he started to hear her everywhere. Even on his rounds, collecting the rent, he imagined hearing her voice. He waited patiently in Moe French’s flower shop while the little shop assistant finished with a customer, when he found out that he wasn’t imagining her voice this time.

“Take care,” the brunette behind the counter said when she handed over a bouquet, and her words shot right into his guts, punching him like a wrecking ball. It was her voice.

He was unable to speak, unable to form words when she turned around to face him, and he found out that his fantasy did not measure up to reality. She was blinding in her beauty, radiant.

“Can I help you?” she asked him, but all he heard were her soft moans when she’d said I’m so wet.

“I’m here for the rent,” he stammered, croaking, and she creased her forehead.

“Are you Mr. Gold?”

“Yes.” God, she squinted her eyes when he choked out that yes, and that told him that she recognised his voice as well. Heat prickled down his back, and he was sure that his face must be as red as boiled lobster. He wished himself a hole to vanish and die in, but apparently his fairy godmother was just not around. Or chose to ignore him.

“A moment, please, I’ll get your money.” She remained absolutely calm, as if nothing ever happened, when she went into the back of the shop and returned with an envelope. When he took it from her hand, unable to speak, to say even the most trivial thing, their fingertips grazed each other, and his breath hitched in his throat when she blushed.

“Thank you, dear,” he choked out, and her smile almost threw him off his feet.

The door to the shop burst open, and Moe French made his way in, carrying a large vase with flowers blocking his view.

“Belle, when that leech Gold comes by for the rent, the money is in the back…” He halted when his eyes found Gold, and he paled.

“Already found it, dad,” she said, so gentle and kind. He loved her voice.

Gold needed a moment to remember how his vocal chords were supposed to work, and smiled at her. “Goodbye, Belle,” he said, leaving with something between mortification and a sense of pleasure that he hadn’t felt for a long time. Her name was Belle.

 


	2. Call me Awkward

It rarely happened that Belle looked at a man and thought about sex. Not because she didn’t like sex – she did – but because most men just didn’t spark her imagination, her interest. She needed more than looks in a man to feel fascinated. Even more so since she knew that men – most of them, at any rate – were simple. 

Give them certain triggers, and they are happy and easily satisfied. They were so unlike women, and Belle often found herself sorry that her callers didn’t need her to spin a complicated and elaborate story to get off. It was simple and straightforward for most of them: 

Let me make you happy – Let me touch myself for you – Let me moan a little – Let me tell you how much I like the things you make me do – Moan a little more – And there it is.

Simple . And while she served those triggers, she could fold her laundry, scrub her bathroom till the tiles blinded her with their shine, or iron her clothes. It was seldom that she had a caller who was looking less for release and more for some basic human contact. She recognized the broken ones by their voices, and she felt sorrier for those than for most men for their lack of imagination. 

She didn’t feel sorry for herself. True, she had two jobs and needed every dollar she could make, and sleep was something she barely remembered, but in the end, she was lucky enough to have two jobs, and she liked both of them. She liked to bring some happiness into people’s life with the flowers she sold throughout the day, and she liked to bring some moments of happiness into the lives of her callers at night. And if not happiness, then at least some short moments of pleasure. And normally, she kept both jobs clearly separated. 

But the day the man in the dark suit entered the flower shop, she found herself looking at him and thinking about…sex. Raw, fast, hard, without a story, without fantasy and imagination, just two bodies clinging to each other. It was Friday, usually her day off, but today she had agreed to help her father out, because it was the day before Valentine’s Day. She sold a bouquet to the good looking customer who came in earlier, a real Prince Charming, who did absolutely nothing for her, although she was sure he was attractive, and the whole time, she watched the man in the suit, just standing there, his hands folded over the golden handle of a cane, and she was glad that her other job had provided her with a certain degree of composure, because otherwise, looking at him alone would have made her drool all over the counter. It was disturbing. 

“Take care ,” she said to Prince Charming, and the other man narrowed his eyes, and his gaze on her grew sharp. And then he blushed. In fact, his face turned as red as if he had been dropped into boiling water. That was strange.

“Can I help you?” she asked, and he stammered something about the rent. “Are you Mr. Gold?” Her father had always kept her away from the landlord, not so much for her sake but to keep her from serving “that leech” a pair of hot ears for his insufferably high rent and his ungodly hard policy. But every thought of giving him a piece of her mind disintegrated when he croaked his “ Yes,” and she recognized his voice. 

“A moment please. I’ll get your money.” Belle barely made it into the back of the shop, and she took deep breaths, counting to ten, to compose herself again. Marcus. She remembered his name, because he had been one of the few broken ones. One of those she really wanted to help. One of those who were so lonely that it killed her to let them go without being able to hug them, make them hot cocoa and wrap them into a blanket, because what they needed wasn’t a short moment of release, but warmth and human contact. And he had recognized her. He had to. His face had started burning when she repeated to Prince Charming what she had said to him: Take care. 

Despite the knowledge of the intimate moment they had shared on the phone, despite knowing that he had masturbated with her voice in his ear, she managed to appear completely calm when she went back to the front of the flower shop and handed him his money. That was until their fingertips touched and she felt the sparks, and remembered her thoughts from earlier, before she knew who he was, remembered how she imagined  ripping his clothes off and  taking him in a heated frenzy of touches and kisses and desperate bodies. She blushed, and she had never been so thankful for her father  storming in and  making a complete fool out of himself.

When he said her name, before he left, Belle felt a shiver trickling down her spine, and the warm tone of his voice settled in her lower belly and made her insides incandesce with a longing that went beyond carnal hunger. She loved his voice. And, God help her, she was intrigued. 

  



	3. Call me Again

For a few weeks, Belle didn’t feel as relaxed in her job as before. The idea that he could call again was disconcerting, now that they knew each other beyond a call that was business for her and seeking for relief for him; now that he not only knew her real name, but also her face. If he called her again, she would have to refuse him. 

On the other hand, it was highly unlikely Gold would call again, now that she knew him, too. Knew not only his face, but also his name. Their names made the whole thing more intimate. Too intimate. After realizing that, Belle began to relax again. And when she no longer worried about him calling, she thought about how lonely he had sounded. How broken. How starved for affection. She could understand that, now that she knew who he was. It had to be lonely to be the man who owned the town and was feared for his ruthlessness. Somehow she couldn’t reconcile his reputation with the man she had experienced on the phone during his call. 

Belle carried these thoughts around for a while,  contemplating over Gold and his loneliness while binding flowers to bouquets or sweeping the street in front of the flower shop, and  comparing it to her own loneliness while busying her hands with automatic tasks like watering the plants or folding her laundry. And she came to the realization that she wouldn’t decline him if he called again. He might know who she was now, but that was mutual, and it would be just as personal for him as it was for her then. Still, she was surprised when he did call again. 

He was the fifth caller that night, and there wasn’t a speck of dust left in her apartment, nothing she could do while wearing a headset and bringing people off with her voice and words alone, so she had reclined on her couch and had started to read. 

“Hi darling, this is Lacey. Are you lonely tonight?” she said, after waiting for the automatic announcement of the price per minute. 

“Hey…Lacey.” 

Belle sat up straight on the couch when she recognized his voice. For a moment, she was silent, her head swirling with possibilities. She needed to decide: Refuse or accept. She forgot all the thoughts she had given that matter, forgot the decision she made before the situation even occurred. The pause stretching between them betrayed her hesitation, betrayed that she had recognized him.

“What shall I call you, darling?” she asked, and she heard him exhale with a sigh on the other end of the line. He had been just as nervous about her decision as she had been. And he had called her Lacey, not Belle, which placed this conversation somewhere outside of their real life acquaintance. Still, it felt a thousand times more awkward than any call before. Belle decided to put that aside and dwell on it later.

“Call me Marcus.” He spoke slowly, as if he didn’t exactly know what it was he wanted. Maybe she should find that out first.

“Alright, Marcus. Are you lonely tonight?” Although her usual protocol felt somehow off now, she decided to stick with it. At least for now.

“Yes.”

“Poor boy. What can I do to help you?”

There was a pause, and Belle realized that it had been wrong to stick with the protocol. He needed something else, so desperately that he even took a leap and called her. 

“I’m sorry Lacey, this isn’t going to work…” His voice was raw, hoarse, and he seemed to be about to hang up on her. 

“ Wait,” she said quickly, and held her breath. But there came no beep, no noise whatsoever. He was still there. She needed to decide, and fast, and better not think too hard about what she was going to do. This was against every policy she had, and probably the most stupid thing she could do. “Call me on my private phone.”

“What?”

“Please, Mr. Gold, you need someone to  talk to. Unless, of course, you really need someone to just bring you off. In that case, we can continue this.”

“No…I don’t need you to bring me off, as you call it.” 

“Ok. Then call me on my private phone whenever you’re ready.” She gave him her number and hung up, shaking and breathless. For the rest of the night, she turned off her business line and waited for Mr. Gold to call her. She had time to brew a tea before her phone rang, and she took a deep breath before she answered it.

“Hi, this is  Belle,” she said, and held her breath. The line crackled.

“Hey. It’s me…Marcus.”

Belle smiled, and she wasn’t entirely sure why she was so relieved that he had really called her. 

“Do you do this often?” he asked, after a short pause.

“Do what often?”

“Well…give someone your private number.”

“No. Not at all. Never.” 

“So why did you give it to me?”

Belle sipped at her tea. She didn’t exactly know how to put into words what had made her forget all her policies and protocols. And she didn’t want to look too closely at her reasons, because then she would realize how stupid it had been. “Well…it would have been awkward to pretend not to know you, don’t you think? I didn’t expect you to ever call me again.”

“I didn’t want to…I just…I didn’t want to be alone.” 

“It’s ok. And it’s good you called. There are times when we feel terribly alone, and those are dangerous times. If you need someone to talk, let’s talk.” She hoped he didn’t hear how empty those phrases sounded to her. She didn’t want him to feel lost and alone, because it was a terrible feeling. 

“It was very kind of you to give me your number. I wouldn’t have liked to use you…” He trailed off, and Belle clawed her nails into the blanket covering her knees. 

“I don’t feel used or abused in my job. It’s a service I provide, and it’s a way to relieve people of stress and help them to feel better. There’s no need to pity me. I’m not real to them. I’m just a voice.”

“You’re real to me.” 

“And that’s exactly the problem. That’s why you couldn’t go through with it. You know who I am, and that makes me real. Just as real as it makes you to me.” 

Gold was silent for a moment. “So you like your job?” 

“Yes, I do.”

“Does it provide you with satisfaction?” 

“Sexually? Lord, no.” Belle giggled, and after a moment, she heard him chuckle. Somehow, they had connected, and the awkward tension was gone.

“Why not? Isn’t it…pleasing to talk about sex?” 

“It could be, I guess. I like to hear them sigh and moan and groan, there’s a power in that ability to use words to get them there, but for me, it’s not enough.” Belle plucked the fuzzy little knots off her blanket and searched for a way to describe it. 

“So, you need something else to get off.” 

“See, I use certain triggers to help my callers to get off, but I would need a lot more than that. I need a whole setting, a story to tell myself, elaborate fantasies to get even slightly aroused.” 

She heard a wet little sound, as if he was licking his lips, and her cheeks grew hot. They had left her business line, but they talked about sex nevertheless. And it was exciting. Belle bit her lower lip and tried to keep her breathing steady.

“Would you…show me?” His voice was deep, and warm, and it elicited a trembling just below her  navel . She loved that raspy quality of his voice, the hoarseness that felt like a caress of fingertips on her skin, like the flutter of wings between her ribs. 

“You want me to tell you one of my fantasies?”

“Yes. Please. If you want to, that is.” 

Belle hesitated. She was proficient in serving certain triggers to others, but no one had ever asked her to share her own fantasies. This was completely different from what she usually did, and she was nervous. On the other hand, she could pretend that this was just a conversation. She didn’t do this to serve him something. 

“Alright. But your hands stay out of your pants, understood?” 

Gold sniggered, and Belle felt her blush deepen. She could be so blunt at times that it was embarrassing. “I  promise,” he said, and that gave Belle enough reassurance. 

“I always loved the story of the Beauty and the Beast. I loved how the Beast always asked, but never took what the Beauty wasn’t willing to give. Even when it would mean  losing his life over it. But in my head, the story goes a little different. The Beauty agrees to go with the Beast, to live with him, and he brings her into his huge and gloomy castle, to spend her days there. Every day he asks her if she is content, if she has everything she desires. And she says yes, but it’s not quite the truth. The Beast gives her a library, a tower filled with books, more books than she could ever read, and she spends her days and nights there, huddled on a settee, and reads. But she is lonely.” 

“Are you the Beauty or the Beast in this?” he asked when she paused, and Belle smiled.

“I imagine  being the Beauty. One day, while browsing the shelves, I find a book, a book filled with words of love, and lust, something I never read before. It’s exciting, and my skin itches in its hunger to be touched. I read about princes pleasuring princesses, and my skin grows tight and hot, and there is that hollow ache inside of me, an emptiness that longs to be filled. I press my thighs together, but the ache grows, and I get hot and restless. I start to do what the prince does in the book, and stroke my knee through my dress. There’s so much fabric between my skin and my palm, so I start pulling up my skirts, and I stroke the inside of my thighs, oh so gentle, with my fingertips…”

Belle’s face seemed to be aflame, her skin hot and damp, and her throat was tight. She heard Gold’s breath, steady, but somehow shaking nevertheless. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse. 

“My fingertips find their way to my centre, and it is like an electric shock when I touch myself. My underwear is damp and clings to my skin, and I rub myself through the fabric, in slow, tender circles…But then I hear something, and I stop, and cover myself. There are footsteps on the stairs. It’s the Beast, coming to look for me, to ask me if I have everything I desire. But something about me betrays what I was doing. Maybe it’s the flush on my skin, the sweat pearling at my temples, the trembling smile I try to give him…Whatever it is, he steps closer, and takes my hand, the hand that just has been between my legs, and brings it to his lips to kiss it…and then he smells it. He smells it, and he licks his lips, and his eyes, dark like those of a reptile, fixate me, and pin me in place. Still he holds my hand to his face, and I feel his breath on my skin, hot and humid, and I feel his claws tremble around my hand. 

‘Do you have everything that you desire?’ he asks, and I look down, away from him and those piercing eyes. 

‘I do’, I say, but it’s a lie, because I feel empty and lonely, and I know that he feels just the same, because that is why he brought me here, isn’t it? I look up again when he kisses my palm, and I gasp when he licks over my skin, along my fingers, those fingers that were just between my legs and damp with the wetness there. He licks over them, and sucks them into his warm mouth, and that feeling sends sparks through my flesh. 

‘Show me what you’ve been doing, my dear’, he says, and goes down to kneel at my feet. The fire in my belly flares up, and the emptiness aches and needs to be soothed, so I do as he told me, and slowly, slowly pull my dress up again, expose my legs in their stockings and my underwear, clinging to the dampness of my core. He follows my hands with his gaze, follows every bit of flesh I expose to him, and his nostrils flare when his eyes finally rest between my legs. He leans closer, as if he wants to inhale my scent, as if he wants to lick over that damp fabric there, and he places his hands with his dark nails on my thighs, where they rest warm, so human-like, and send a prickle right between my legs, right to where his gaze is resting.

‘Show me’, he whispers, and I start to rub over that soft flesh, circling and pressing gently, and he follows every movement with his hungry eyes. It’s not enough, all of my body wants to be touched, and I pull down the neckline of my dress, and pull at the edge of my corset, until finally my breasts are exposed and ready to be touched. The Beast just watches me, breathing hard, but apart from his hands on my thighs, he doesn’t touch me. I stroke my breast, and my nipples get hard and puckered and need to be touched, and I undo the bows that hold my drawers together and slip my hand inside. There is still the fabric protecting me from his eyes, but he watches as I move my hand, watches as I dip into the wetness and circle that sensitive point there, my clit, and he watches as I start rubbing it until I shake on the settee, until my world goes blind, and his claws dig deep into the flesh of my thighs as I climax.”

Belle heard Gold inhale sharply when she paused there, and she herself had difficulties to keep her voice  level , to not betray how hot she felt, how her belly trembled, how much she ached for relief.

“When I withdraw my hand from my core, glistening with my wetness, he takes it, and laps it all up, sucks it into his mouth again, licks it clean, and he trembles and shivers, as if he is drinking in something delicious and addictive. 

‘My love’, he says, ‘do you have everything you desire ?’ And he looks at me with his dark eyes so full of hope that it pains me to turn him away. 

‘I do,’ I say, and his shoulders sag, and he looks down, at the floor, where he’s still kneeling between my open legs. 

‘Let me lick you clean?’ he whispers, but I sit up and push down my skirts. 

‘Next  time,’ I say, and he turns his face into my palm when I cup his cheek. His hair is soft and curly, and I want to press my face into his curls and want to kiss his scaly skin…”

Belle let the silence settle between them, waited for the tension to subside, and she almost missed the soft sigh that escaped Gold. She wished she could feel his breath through the phone, his touch, wished she could see his eyes. She had told him to keep his hands out of his pants, and out of some sort of fairness, she abstained from touching herself, although her inner muscles clenched and everything throbbed and prickled in the need to be touched.

“That was beautiful. And I understand now what you mean with ‘more’. I guess we men are just too simple.”

Belle’s tension broke with a giggle, and Gold joined in. “I guess you’re right.”

“Well, Belle, it was a pleasure to talk to you, but I really need a cold shower now.” Gold sounded a little ashamed, as if it cost him a great deal to say it out loud, and the heat inside her belly mounted again. She loved that tone of his voice. 

“Call me again?” she asked, and held her breath. She waited so long that she was already worried he would decline, when he finally answered. 

“I will.”

  



	4. Call me Beast

He never saw her again when he made his rounds, and he supposed that it was better that way. Belle was right: As long as she remained someone not quite real, she remained safe. Easier to trust. Easier to talk to. It was a little like talking to himself, only less…one-sided. She had told him to call again, but still, he needed time to gather his courage – at least what little he had – to take the phone and dial her number. 

“Hi  Marcus,” she greeted him, gentle, but her voice was tired, and he wished he hadn’t listened to her and hadn’t called.

“I’m sorry, is it a bad time now?” 

She was silent for a moment, before she sighed. “It’s been a hard day, that’s all.” 

“Wanna talk about it?” He made his way out of his study into the living room, walking from one side of the room to the other and back. He couldn’t sit right now. 

“Not really. How was your day?” She was deflecting, and Gold found it hard to tell her about his day, or anything, when she was so…distant. 

“Belle, I’m sorry for calling, I see it’s not a good time now. Let’s talk another time.” Or not at all, he added silently. 

“Wait. It’s just…I had a huge fight with my dad today, and that’s dragging me down, that’s all.”

“Anything I can do to help you?” 

Belle let out a breathless laugh, but it sounded rather sad. “I don’t think anything you could do would change his mind in that matter. But it would help if we talked about something else. I think. You, for example.”

Gold smiled, forgetting that she couldn’t see his smile through the phone. “There’s not much to talk about.”

“You know, most men are more than happy to talk about themselves. It’s rare to find one who doesn’t.” 

“You seem to be quite prejudiced about men.”

“Job hazard, I’d say. Although I only get a very narrow glimpse at them in my job, I sometimes forget that those glimpses are just that, and not a look at men in general, and at their entirety. But then, it’s hard to forget that there is more to a man who likes me to pretend getting strangled with his belt to get off.” 

Gold almost tripped over his couch and slumped down on it with a huff. “That’s terrible.” 

“It’s just a fantasy. He doesn’t do that in real life.”

There was nothing to say, and Gold didn’t want to sound as if he was judging her for her job, or her poor judgment, or worse, sound as if he was criticizing her, but he couldn’t help but feel terribly sorry for her, even though he knew she wouldn’t like that. “So, if you have clients like that, don’t you feel as if you need to, I don’t know, cleanse yourself after work, from inside out?” 

“I do. Those clients are the worst, the ones that manage to get behind my defenses and make me feel wrong and sullied. Most aren’t like that, luckily. And I won’t judge the whole load of apples over one rotten one.”

“That’s very…gracious of you.” 

Belle laughed, and she sounded already better. He wondered if that was because of her self-healing powers, or if maybe a little bit of it was because of him. He’d like to be good for her. Even though he had not told her a single one of the things that had made his day crappy and another failure, he felt already better, and the thought of having the power to make her feel better, and smile, was exhilarating. 

“Just tell me that you don’t fantasize about murdering women, and we’re good.” 

Gold had to swallow, and he clawed his hand, suddenly slippery on the handle of his cane, into the fabric of his pajama pants. “I don’t. Fantasize about it.” There was a short silence, and he screwed his eyes shut. Then Belle spoke again, sounding as if she was biting her cheeks to keep her voice  level .

“Um, Marcus, you need to work on that response. It sounds as if you’re not fantasizing about it, but doing it.” 

“Heavens, no. I never murdered anyone.” At least not consciously. 

“I’m glad to hear that, really. So, what are you fantasizing about?” And just like that, they were back to the sex-talk. That, too, was oddly comfortable. It created a level of intimacy between them that he had with nobody else, and although it was a lot like stripping down to the bone in front of a complete stranger, it was somehow comforting, too. 

“I don’t really fantasize,” he said, but she saw right through his lie. 

“Come on. Everybody does. And I shared my fantasy with you, so the least you could do is to return the favor.” 

He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the growing tautness of his skin, the itch that needed to be scratched, like a mosquito bite, growing more noticeable the more he tried to ignore it. Clearing his throat, he gave in. “Alright. But I have to admit that my fantasy is heavily influenced by yours.” 

He waited for her to say something, comment on that, but she remained silent, and he took it as a sign that she was at least not opposed to  hearing another version of her tale. 

“You know, I couldn’t get that image of the Beast out of my head. Maybe because of how lonely both were, the Beauty and the Beast, trapped in a vast castle with no one else but themselves, but every reason in the world to be apart. The Beast, unable to see himself as anything else but the beast he is, with claws and scales and the ugliness within, the rage confined to that little space between his ribs, the hunger and greed and lust he doesn’t dare to admit, and even more, the need to be touched and seen as something else than just the beast… I can relate to that. It’s a terrible fate to exist like that. The castle is a prison, not only for the Beauty, but for the Beast, too, who sees nothing but his own cruelty and ugliness reflected and thrown back at him from the bare walls and the mirrors and the echoes in the corridors. And still, he asks  his Beauty , the little bird he caught and keeps, if she’s content, knowing full well that she isn’t and never can be, because who could, trapped in a castle and tied to a beast?” 

He paused, and heard how Belle swallowed heavily. But she didn’t interject,  waiting for him to continue his story. He was cold, shivering, but he closed his eyes and breathed against it all. “But despite his beastliness, the Beauty shared this incredible moment with him. She let him see her at her most vulnerable, when the slightest touch, or the wrong word, would shatter and destroy her, like porcelain. He’s stumped by that, he doesn’t understand…and he wants to protect her even more fiercely from himself, because that moment has only fueled his hunger for her. He wants her to be content, and happy, despite being his prisoner, but oh, how he wants her to be his. How he wants to taste her, how he wants to touch her and feel her tremble beneath his claws. How he wants to hear his name from her lips. But he’s a beast, and monsters don’t get princesses, and porcelain shatters in their grip. 

" Still, every day I ask her if she is content, and every day I hope she will answer me that no, she isn’t content, that she craves touch as much as I crave it, that she wants me at her feet to kiss her and bury my face between her thighs to lick her into oblivion. Of course she never says it. She smiles, that distant smile that betrays her loneliness, and tells me she doesn’t need anything. And despite her promise, I never get to see her so open again like I saw her when she was pleasuring herself in front of me. I look at her over the table when she sits with me to dine, and my mouth waters because I’m thirsting to taste her again, thirsting to smell and touch her and hear those sweet moans. And God help me, but I stare at her painted lips and want to feel them on my scaly skin, and want to see them closed around that part of me that is straining against my leather breeches and makes me shift uncomfortably on my seat. I get up and step behind her chair, and she holds her breath when I place my claws on her shoulders, on the skin left naked from her dress, and I bent down to breathe in the scent of her hair. I feel her tremble, and a shiver running through her when I whisper into her ear, so close to touching her. 

"‘Please let me kiss you. I want to taste you.’ 

"S he breathes heavily, almost pants, and from where I tower over her, I can see her chest move, can see how her dress caresses her skin, tracing her breasts, and how I want to touch her soft flesh and rip that dress off of her, like the beast I am.” 

He had to stop there, his voice too hoarse to continue, and Belle was so silent for a moment that he wondered if she was still there. 

“What does she answer?” Belle was just as hoarse as he was, and he wondered if this was as arousing for her as it was for him. He rubbed over his erection, trying to get the sharp edge off of his need, to soothe the ache, but his touch only increased the need, and he bit his tongue to keep his groan from spilling over his lips. 

“The Beauty pushes back her chair, as far as possible with me lurking behind it, gets to her feet and turns, and lifts her chin up as if she’s challenging me. She puts on her brave face, and I realize that she expects me to play the part of the beast. She expects to get eaten by the beast now, regardless of her own will in the matter. I step back, and bow, make myself small before her, hoping she believes that I’m not a threat, even when, in reality, I am. 

"‘ My  apologies,’ I say, but she doesn’t smile and doesn’t nod, and she keeps me waiting for her acceptance of my words. She knows that it’s just that, words, and she sees what state I’m in. I can’t hide the beast, and she keeps me waiting for so long that I fear she will mock me for it. But then she steps closer, and she cups my cheek, her palm dry and cool on my skin, and makes me look up to her. 

"‘What if I wanted to taste you instead?’ she asks, and my heart pounds so loud and painfully in my chest that I fear I misheard her. I’m paralyzed, unable to move, and my brain stutters and refuses to help me. My need is consuming me, licking like flames over my skin and through my veins, and she meets my eyes and just waits for me to answer her. 

"‘ Please ,’ I whisper, and try to swallow the saliva that threatens to drown me. She smiles, and her lips, as red as wine, come closer, so close she almost kisses me and I stop breathing. 

"‘I want to taste you like you tasted  me,’ she says, and her throaty voice feels like velvet gliding over my skin. I step back, stumbling, the thought of her lips on me, around me, bringing me close to losing control. I know I could come from a single touch, and oh, how I long for it, how I thirst for her mouth, so hot and wet and deep around me, but I don’t dare to believe her, don’t dare to think that she could really want me like that. In that moment, with her eyes on me, I turn to porcelain, and the slightest touch could crack and shatter me. And yet, when she touches me and starts to unlace my unbearably tight breeches, I don’t crack and I don’t shatter. She unwraps me, and sucks in air when she sees how much I hunger for her, how my cock strains and begs for her touch. Careful, as if it could bite her, she lets her fingertips wander along my length, from the base to the wet tip, where a small drop of my seed is seeping out, and she takes that droplet up and licks it from her fingertip…” 

Gold had to stop, out of breath and shaking, and he closed his hand tighter around his cock to still the ever growing need. There was a small wet patch where his cock was straining against his pajama pants, and he rubbed over that spot, his hips bucking against his will. 

“Belle, I fear I have to stop there…I’m sorry…” He tried to keep his voice  level ,  not to betray how aroused he was, but he wasn’t very good at it.

“Are you afraid?” She asked it softly, but still, he felt naked, like the beast in his fantasy under the scrutiny of the beauty, and he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the couch.

“I am.” 

He heard her swallow, and something that could be a sigh, or a soft moan. Whatever it was, it made him stroke his cock once more, pumping harder, and bite back his own groan. 

“Please, tell me the rest of your story.”

“Belle…”

“It’s ok, Marcus. Please.” Her pleading voice rippled through him and pulled that groan from his lips that he had held back so bravely until now, but now he could not keep it in any longer. He slipped his hand inside his pants before he continued his story, and he hissed when he closed his fist around his cock to pump. 

“I tremble before her, expect to see disgust on her face when she laps at my seed, but she smiles, and meets my eyes.

"‘Let me lick you clean?’ she asks, repeating my own question, and I can only nod, trembling, and closing my hands to fists at my side. Slowly, like a dancer, she steps closer again, and gets down on her knees in front of me, her gown pooling around her and making her look like a beautiful flower, like a lily, and I feel her breath wafting over my skin, over my weeping cock. She tilts her head and looks at me, so curious and so without any shame, and then she licks over the tip, like a kitten lapping at a bowl of milk, and I could come just from that. She looks at me, meets my eyes, and what an incredible sight it is, to have her on her knees before me and her lips so close…

"‘ Please,’ I beg, ‘Please, I need to feel your lips around me, please…’

" And she smiles, and closes her lips around my tip, sucks me in, without ever looking away from me, and my knees could buckle then and there, with her mouth enclosing me so wet and hot and heavenly, and then she moves her head, takes me deeper in, until I groan and beg. She doesn’t stop, and her cheeks flush, her eyelashes flutter, and she moves her tongue around me, swirls it around my cock, until I have to push her away, or I’ll come into her mouth.

"‘ Don’t you like it?’ she asks, and god, she looks wounded. I can only shake my head, but she knows what I mean, and she skids closer on her knees, and I can’t take my eyes off her lips and the smeared lipstick. She’s so eager, and innocent, and I’m about to soil her and spill myself all over her.

" ‘You don’t have to do this ,’ I croak, but she ignores me, ignores the beast I am, ignores the trembling mess she made out of me, and sucks me deep into her mouth, as if she couldn’t get enough of me, and when she moves her head again, and sucks, I can’t hold it back any longer, I come into her mouth. And she sucks off every last drop, greedily, as if she waited only for this, and she sucks and licks until I’m clean and spineless and soft…”

Gold closed his eyes, squeezed them shut, and stilled his hand on his cock, trying to fight off his climax, trying to hold back that needy, undignified sound at the back of his throat, and he bit his tongue and held his breath.

“It’s a beautiful  fantasy,” Belle murmured, and he wished he could feel her breath on his skin, wished he could feel her as close as she sounded, wished she was there to touch him. But this was only a story, and she wasn’t real, not any realer than the Beauty in his tale. She was just as much a fantasy.

“Would you agree to meet me ?” h e asked, before he could decide on saying nothing at all. There was a long pause, so long that he feared it would never end, so long that his stomach clenched and his bones started to prickle and sting and crack with the certainty that she would tell him now to never call her again. 

But then she took an audible breath, and, exhaling again, answered him with something even more terrifying: “Yes.”

  



	5. Call me a hopeless Romantic

Gold looked at his reflection in the full length mirror in his bedroom and realized that he couldn’t do this. He had to change again, back into one of his suits, impeccable, comfortable and, above all, safe, but just then the door to his bedroom opened and Bae peeked inside. 

“Ashley’s  here,” his son said, but the way his eyes were fixed on his father allowed little doubt about the focus of his attention. 

“ I'll , uh, change then…”

“But Papa, you look so cool.” 

This assertion, out of his son’s mouth, did nothing to reassure him - more like the opposite - but then he took a deep breath and told himself to be calm. He could do this. 

But when Belle opened the door of her apartment and her jaw sagged down, he knew that it had been a mistake. Her eyes trailed down his front, taking in his leather jacket, the waistcoat, shirt, tie, and, at last, the leather pants, sitting uncomfortably tight. 

“Are you planning on killing  me?” she asked, and Gold wished he had listened to his rationality, instead of the feeling in his gut that told him to present himself as someone he was most definitely not. 

“I thought you liked the leather  look,” he stammered, and that was the worst of it all. Belle narrowed her eyes.

“Is this supposed to seduce me?”

“Well, obviously it doesn’t work.” Gold started to turn. He had humiliated himself enough, there was no need to draw this out. It had been a mistake from the start. 

“Wait, where are you going?”

Her voice made him pause. “Home. This was a bad idea.”

“Maybe a bad choice for a first date, but I can see a certain…something in this look. I could like it.” Her eyes lingered for a long moment on his pants, and Gold grew hot and cold at once. He certainly started to feel something with her eyes on him. 

“Hm, I prepared a picnic …” h e said to bridge the silence, and she narrowed her eyes once again.

“It’s  dark,” she observed, and he silently thanked himself for arranging their date in the evening. It would be so much worse if she (or anyone, for that matter) would see him in those pants in broad daylight.

“Never had a picnic under the stars?”

A smile illuminated her face, and Gold forgot to breathe for a moment. “That sounds  beautiful,” she said, and finally grabbed her purse from beside the door. Gold suppressed a sigh of relief and terror. He opened the passenger door of his car for her, and prayed he would find something to talk about until they reached their destination. But he shouldn’t have worried.

“So, I didn’t take you for the type who hides a pair of leather pants in his closet.”

“Please let’s not talk about my poor choice in clothing.” He stared at the street, but he noticed her smirk nevertheless. 

“I think we should absolutely talk about it. It’s an interesting choice, given the things we talked about…”

“What?” He tried to keep the horror out of his voice. Of course he had thought about the things they had talked about on the phone. More than once. And more than once while closing his fist around his aching cock. And of course it had influenced his ridiculous blunder in clothing. But he could tell her none of that. He couldn’t tell her that he thought of her leather clad beast when he chose those pants. 

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the look. And you fill them very well… But if you’re trying to enact a fantasy here, then I’d rather know that. Because then we could spare us a very uncomfortable talk…”

“What?” He sounded a little high pitched, and he cleared his throat to get rid of the tightness that made it hard to breathe.

“I’m neither blind nor naive, Marcus.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression of mocking you, or wanting to…exploit you…” He clenched his hands hard around the steering wheel and hoped for a miracle, something like a road sign that showed him a way out of this catastrophe. Of course there was none. 

“Well, the thought certainly crossed my mind.” 

He flicked a glance at her and a new wave of shame rushed through him at the sight of her confusion, the soft glow of her cheeks, and the way she bit her lip. “I am an  idiot,” he groaned, and Belle hiccupped a helpless little laugh, full of anguish. He had managed to ruin it before it even started. Just when he contemplated offering to bring her home again, they reached their destination, and Belle gasped. 

“Did you do this?”

He didn’t pull the key out of the ignition just yet. “Too much ?” h e asked, taking in the small pavilion beside the old well, adorned with lacy curtains that billowed in the breeze and fairy lights bathing everything in a soft golden glow. It had taken him all afternoon to prepare the place, and now he realized how creepy it was. “Definitely too much for the first date …” h e murmured, mostly to himself. He flinched when Belle reached over and placed her hand on his on the steering wheel.

“Only a little…I mean, the pavilion, the fairy lights, that’s all beautiful. But the remote location, and all that leather… Are you sure you aren’t some ritualistic serial killer?”

“I gather that would be a serious drawback for you.” She flinched, and when he looked at her, her eyes grew huge. He expected her to fumble for the door handle and stumble out to escape him into the woods, but instead, she burst out into a giggle. It washed over him like the sound of Bohemian Rhapsody, and covered him in goose bumps from head to toe. 

“Promise me not to kill me, and I think I can live with  it,” she said, between fits of giggling and snorting, and the corners of his lips were drawn upwards, lifting into a smile that felt foreign and crooked on his face. 

“I can promise you that ,” he said, and was rewarded with a radiant smile. Finally he pulled the key out of the ignition. “Shall we?”

“Absolutely.” 

Gold carried the picnic basket into the pavilion, and set to light the candles while Belle looked up at the stars and inhaled the scent of the nearby woods. 

“I prepared light snacks, mostly…fruit, cheese and wine…” Belle turned around when he spoke, and she looked like a fairytale princess, framed by the glow of the fairy lights and the light of the moon and the stars catching in her eyes. 

“That’s wonderful.” She stepped closer to sit at the small camping table, hidden under a checkered tablecloth, and watched with ravenous eyes while he unpacked food and wine.

“You look like you haven’t eaten all day”, he said, and nearly stopped breathing when she licked her lip. 

“I haven’t. Didn’t have time.” She started to load her plate with cheese and grapes, and he checked his picnic basket, hoping to find another plastic container with food there. He couldn’t have her starving on their first date. When he found that he didn’t pack an extra portion of food, he offered her wine. 

Belle smiled, and Gold spilled the wine he was pouring for her. 

“Oh,  oops,” she said, while he just stared at the dark stain on the table cloth…and his waistcoat…and his pants…and the next moment, he wished to disappear completely, because Belle grabbed a napkin and started to pat at his pants. She straight out dived for the pants, really, omitting the waistcoat and the tablecloth as if they weren’t even there. Gold nearly toppled over in his attempt to back away. Belle froze and looked at him as if he had just thrown a bucket of ice water at her.

“I’m…sorry ?” s he offered, and Gold screwed his eyes shut.

“Don’t be, please. Just…let me handle that.” He plucked the napkin out of her hand and dabbed at his pants, only too aware of her eyes on him. He wondered if his pants had been this tight when he left the house earlier, or if the wine had shrunken them a size or two. At least leather was easy to clean. When his pants were sufficiently dry, he took off his waistcoat, feeling naked with only his shirt and tie.

“Did I do something wrong ?” B elle asked, and his cheeks grew hot when he forced himself to meet her eyes.

“Of course not. It’s just…I didn’t expect you to jump at me like that.”

“I only wanted to help.  It was nothing suggestive.”

This had gone completely wrong. He wished, once more, to disappear. “Of course not. I was just startled by the way you dived at my…pants.” And that pause didn’t make it better. Oh my. 

“I dived at your…pants?” Her voice was sharp now, and Gold ducked, without meaning to. He got up from his chair and retreated.

“I’m sorry, Belle, but this seems to be a very bad idea…we should just call it off…”

Belle rose, too, but she didn’t back away. Instead, she came around the table and took his hand, and held on to him when he tried to pull his hand back. 

“Sit down, Marcus ,” she said, and although her voice was soft, gentle, it held an order, and he slumped down on his chair as if she had turned his legs to pudding. He held his breath when Belle, tiny, beautiful Belle, straddled his lap and placed his hand on her hip. Her hair tickled his chin, and he hardly dared to breathe when she leant slightly back and plucked a grape from her plate. 

“So, I didn’t plan to get this close to you on the first date, but you are clearly panicking, and I remember that my dad used to hold me when I was little, and afraid, and it always helped me, so I’m trying this out with you, alright? Is this ok for you, or am I too heavy?” 

He was not sure what the right answer was, so he just stared at her, at her dark lips, so close to his, and he inhaled her scent, tightening his grip on her hip without wanting to. 

“You have to tell me if it’s ok for you, Marcus.”

He nodded, silently, transfixed by the smile that rewarded him.

“Good. Now, open up, and taste a grape. Concentrate on it. How does it feel? How does it taste? And don’t forget to chew, chewing relaxes.” She offered him the grape, and he opened his lips and plucked it from her fingertips, without breaking eye contact. When the fruit burst between his teeth and the bittersweet taste flooded his mouth, she smiled again, and started to rake through his hair. The tension left him, or rather, started to spiral through his body, down, to concentrate at one point, making it almost impossible for him to swallow, the awareness of how tight his skin was, how close to her he was, and how that point of his where all his tension coiled was straining to be even closer making it hard to think at all. He couldn’t hold back the needy sound in his throat when Belle rolled her hips and leaned closer. 

“How close did you plan to get ?” he croaked, and she hummed, close to his throat, sending shivers over his skin. 

“Well, to be honest, I thought about jumping you the moment you walked into the flower shop. But, we don’t really know each other…beyond fantasies, I mean. And I thought we should at least know each other a little better.” 

“Yes, that’s a good…” He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because Belle pressed herself flush against him and trailed his jaw line with her nail, rasping over his skin and knocking the breath out of him.

“But then, you came to my door, wearing those pants…” 

“I thought the pants were too much…”

“Well, I decided that I like them.” And with the smile of a cat, she bent forward and captured his lips in a kiss, and just like a cat, she rubbed herself against him and made him groan. 

“God, Belle, please, I’m not…”

Belle pulled back and watched him wide eyed, her forehead crinkled in worry. “You’re not ready?”

He groaned. “Too ready, I fear…”

She giggled and kissed him again, merciless, and his pants squeaked when she rubbed herself against him again. She kissed his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids, kissed him between his brows and cradled his face between her palms. “You know, if you are too ready, you should totally take care of me  first,” she whispered into his ear, and Gold forgot about food and wine and fantasies, because the woman on his lap was real, she was warm, vitally alive, and she wanted him. He wasn’t going to question the odd ways of the universe now, not when she leant back and offered him her throat to kiss and nibble and taste, not when his hands followed the curve of her spine upwards, between her shoulder blades, into her hair, running like silk over his skin, not now when he could inhale her scent and press kisses to the swell of her breasts. Not now, when she rewarded his kisses with soft moans and sighs and pressed his face to her skin. He slid his palms down her back, to the curve of her ass, and she squeaked when he squeezed it. He let go instantly, and Belle poked his shoulder. 

“Don’t stop… I like that.”

“You do?” 

“Yes.” And as if she wanted to show him how much she liked it, she pressed herself hard against him before she wriggled her hand between them and cupped him through his pants.

“Sweet Lord.” His breath left him in a rush, and Belle giggled against his throat. This time, he felt more confident when he gave her ass a squeeze, and pulled her even closer. He started to suck on the crook of her neck, and Belle started to wriggle on his lap, panting, gasping, and, with a high pitched sound that shot through his whole body and accumulated to sweet pain in his loins, she went still in his arms. Her pulse throbbed under his lips, the beat of her heart hard and fast and enticing. And to his utter shame, it didn’t take her more than a few rubs over his pants to get him to make a mess. He panted against her throat and closed his arms a little tighter around her. 

“I’m  sorry,” he whispered, and Belle pulled back and frowned at him. 

“What for?”

“Well, I really need a shower and a fresh pair of pants now…and I’m sorry for letting the picnic go to waste.”

“Especially after I haven’t had anything to eat all day… Can’t you just…I don’t know…slip out of your briefs, put the leather back on, and we spend the night under those beautiful stars?”

“That’s a brilliant idea.” They smiled at each other, and it was like this that Marcus Aurelius Gold found himself changing behind some elm bushes out in the woods. And he decided that it was good like this, because their picnic happened to be the best picnic under the stars he ever had had.

  



End file.
